The Distant Whispers
The rain had stopped, leaving the garden in a state of suspended gray silence. Margaret stood on the balcony of the penthouse apartment, her fingers gripping the cold iron railing until her knuckles turned white. Below, the city of Seattle shimmered under a film of moisture, the skyscrapers reflecting the overcast sky in distorted, watery shapes. She was forty-two, and for the last decade, she...
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